


Brimstone

by qualapec



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon Queer Character, Canon Trans Character, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Blood, Post Sequence 8, Shock, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualapec/pseuds/qualapec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Sequence 8. "Jacob comes to Ned smelling like smoke and tasting like copper."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brimstone

I.

The Alhambra is burning, and Jacob’s never shaken after an assassination before. There’s matte on his lips that he thinks is theatre makeup, and he’s shaking, because he almost didn’t make it out. The outside of his jacket is still hot to the touch. Jacob needs to go, needs to move. In the back of his mind, there’s a voice telling him that he shouldn’t be at the scene of the crime when the firemen and the police arrive. He doesn’t relish the idea of explaining what happened to anyone, least of all Abberline.

He thinks of the matte on his lips again, the heat that came with it, followed by a sinking sadness and revulsion. Not, “not this,” like he’d hoped. Instead it said, “not _like_ this.” He’s surprised by his own sadness and longing and anger. The alien gravity and joy he’d felt so recently snapped into place the instant Roth grabbed him, and he was thinking of something he hadn’t thought to want or that he could want. It’s intimate and it’s a feeling he doesn’t hate, but the betrayal and grief washes over him with it. He’s scared. How close was he to becoming Roth? How close was he to being _with_ Roth? What did he just lose in the fire?

He stops, and considers that he almost lost his _life_ in that fire. Jacob’s lungs ache and his breath is coming out in ragged gasps. He wants to go back to the train, hide under a blanket and tell Evie he has a cold. But she’ll see through the lie, because she always does. She’ll smell the smoke. He can’t go home yet. The curiosities shop is out, too, because Henry is smart. He’ll know something is wrong, and he might tell Evie, because he’ll be worried about Jacob, and because he wants Evie to know she can trust him. Jacob can’t go any of those places.

Jacob begins moving through the park outside the Alhambra, clutching his shoulders. Even though he’s fighting burns, he feels cold.

He doesn’t need his sister or the man who fancies her; he needs a friend.

 

II.

Ned is not supposed to engage in violent crime, and he doesn’t, but he’d be a fool not to keep a small ex-service pistol holstered under his desk. He’s made enemies, and he has no delusions about that. Ned’s not eager to kill anyone. Even though he’s alarmed, he holds back when he hears the telltale scratching of a lock pick working at his window. He thinks it’s a small animal, until he recognizes the scrape of metal on metal, and his right hand is carefully positioned under his desk when he sees a large shadow lurking outside.  His hand relaxes under the pistol when he realizes it’s Jacob Frye. Ned sinks into his chair and the tension releases in his shoulders. At least the Frye boy isn’t boring. “I could have shot you, you know?”

“ _You_ know, believe it or not, that wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen tonight?” Jacob gives him a lopsided smile that looks even more crooked in the dim light. Ned should have gone to bed an hour ago, so the only things lighting his desk are his personal lanterns and candles, since the gaslights were turned off for the night. “Maybe I just wanted your company, Wynert.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough.” Ned runs his hands over his face, and pulls them away in a tired flop onto the arms of his chair. “You scared me, Frye.”

“Sorry. You figured it out pretty quick, though.” Ned watches him glance around, almost anxiously, and move up to his desk.

“That really doesn’t make me feel better, Jacob. No one bit.” Ned’s up from his chair now, and moving towards Jacob. There’s something magnetic about him, this bulky, graceful man who almost completely secured Ned’s monopoly on… luxury goods. Is he this smiley and teasing with everyone? Maybe. Not quite. They’re alone, and he can tell that Jacob isn’t here on business.  Jacob smiles at him now, and Ned lets it in.

Jacob has his hands on his belt as he approaches Ned, and Ned folds his arms. He’s taken by the proximity between them, doesn’t want to admit that he’s fantasized about Jacob being so close. A lifetime of care has kept him from getting burned, and throwing that away now won’t help either of them. Still, a man has needs. He sizes Jacob up. “Are you going to let me get back to work?”

It’s a formality. Jacob deliberately moves between Ned and his desk, and Ned carefully sidesteps, and leans back into the wall in a move he hopes comes across as leading. “I don’t know. Do you _want_ to get back to work?”

Ned shrugs. When Jacob comes closer, he smells like burning wood.

“Have you been smoking?” he asks, but the question is lost as Jacob pushes onwards. He knows Jacob is smaller than he looks bundled up in leather and metal, but Jacob cuts an impressive figure either way, and Ned doesn’t mind when Jacob reaches out and grabs his wrist, closes the distance between them and presses Ned into the wall, firm but gentle. Ned’s chest flutters like a schoolboy’s, and when Jacob tilts his head down, Ned accepts the offer and gives back.

They kiss, and Ned’s swept by the raw strength Jacob has, how it’s in his lips as much as his arms, the line of his stomach and shoulders as they loom over Ned, wrap around him and block out the lamplight. Ned knows he’s wanted this, but he didn’t know Jacob wanted this—wanted him—so much. One of Ned’s hands presses into Jacob’s chest, and he can feel Jacob’s ribcage rise and fall under his own ink-stained fingers.

He only pulls away when he ventures his tongue between Jacob’s lips and inhales. Only then does Ned notice the shudder in the hand pressed into the wall and the unsteadiness of the heart under his thumb.

When Jacob senses Ned freeze, he stops and leans back. “What’s wrong?”

“Your lips taste like blood,” Ned says simply, and artfully detaches himself; Jacob’s still breathless when he does. As much as the sudden loss of contact hurts, he dodges under Jacob’s arm. Jacob watches him go without trying to stop him.

Jacob laughs nervously, but Ned knows his instincts were right. Now he can see that Jacob’s eyes are wide, like a cornered animal, and Ned is just as disappointed as Jacob is scared.

This isn’t the right time, damn it. Ned doesn’t want to be the branch that pulls someone out of a river any more than he wants to be the rock that drags them down. It would be all too easy to lose his own footing and get stuck; he can’t afford that right now.

Ned sighs, and reaches for a handkerchief that he cleans his lips with. It’s like the bloody noses he was prone to as a child; he’ll smell sour copper—and smoke—all night.

“So?” He now notices the shake in Jacob’s voice, and knows he’s making the right call. “What’s wrong with all that?”

Carefully, Ned works his way back to his desk, and stiffly returns to his chair. “Frye, I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I think you should go.”

“Ned,” his voice sounds small, “if you don’t want to, I’ll respect—“

“—I didn’t say that,” Ned replies. “I’m saying now’s not the right time.”

“What if it’s the perfect time?” Jacob offers.

“Then there will be another one,” Ned says, trying to convince himself as much as reassure Jacob. “I don’t want whatever you’re trying to do here to taint that for either of us.”

Jacob nods, slowly, still looking like a child Ned threw out in the cold. It hurts. Ned knows he’ll regret it when he’s in bed tonight, but _now is not the right time_. “All right.”

Ned sighs in relief, and automatically reaches for the bottom drawer of his desk. “I have some American whiskey here, if you want some—“  By the time Ned turns around again, Jacob’s gone, the window neatly shut behind him.

Ned sighs and pours himself a drink. He prefers boring nights.

 

III.

The next day, Ned hands four pounds to a paperboy, and is immediately confronted with a front page spread of a gutted building. He reads about the burning of the Alhambra and the death of renowned actor (and _infamous_ Blighter) Maxwell Roth.

Ned’s smart. He pieces things together.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first fic I've posted in quite a while. Really fell in love with AC: Syndicate and this was a potential relationship I really wanted to explore. Pretty happy with how this turned out and I hope to be posting more soon.
> 
> Thank you!  
> Qualapec


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